


dry

by doublejoint



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29893818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: Kojirou has large hands, and a certain way of looking at Kaoru.
Relationships: Nanjo Kojiro | Joe/Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom
Comments: 2
Kudos: 122





	dry

Kojirou doesn’t have to come out of the kitchen every time, but he always does, as if he’s got a sixth sense (or, more likely, a waiter telling him) that Kaoru’s here. He always takes Kaoru’s order himself, occasionally gives unsolicited recommendations (and only once or twice has Kaoru given him the satisfaction of taking him up on those offers), always writes them down with a pen that seems too small for his overly-large fingers. Most pens do, and Kaoru can’t blame himself for taking notice of hands and the motions of writing. 

And, it’s Kojirou, after all, Kojirou whose hand folds an extra-large piece of pizza effortlessly, greasy flour staining his hand like the slices they’d bought from that place in LA where the paper plates had been soaked through with oil by the time they’d paid, grease running down the lines of his fingers, licking them off, watching Kaoru watch him and offering up his thumb and Kaoru had licked the grease off (“Gorilla,” he’d said, against Kojirou’s finger, but the word had been blown back at him by the wind and Kojirou had smiled at him in that knowing, self-satisfied way that is never quite a straight-up smirk). 

Kaoru’s thumb leaves a smudge on the wine glass when he sets it down. Annoying. It’ll all be the same after the dishwasher; that’s what Kojirou always says (and it’s true), but it’s irksome. The residue of bread on his hands is not so easily wiped away by a napkin. He rises and heads toward the restroom.

When Kaoru returns, hands washed clean, Kojirou is sitting in the empty seat across from him.

“Aren’t you on the clock?”

“I’m on my break.”

“I don’t remember asking you to dine with me.”

“I brought my own food,” says Kojirou, folding half a pizza in one hand.

Kaoru does not dignify that with a look. This isn’t the same kind of thick-crusted, grease-laden pizza that they’d eaten back in LA, and Kojirou’s a clean eater when he wants to be. Does he want to be, now? His uniform is stretching at the shoulders; he’s leaning forward like there’s something on Kaoru’s face he wants to see. Kaoru lifts his wine glass to his mouth. This is too dry for him, he decides, but the quality is good, better for the price point than it should be.

He sets the glass down and returns Kojirou’s gaze. The way Kojirou looks, especially at Kaoru, has always been heavy, unselfconscious; he never holds back or lets himself second-guess. More than going with instinct, he makes commitment; there’s a distinction, important to make here. He’s deliberate in a way most people either can’t be or just, naturally, are--yet, he knows what he’s doing. That there's somehow room in his head for this is--bothersome, though that’s not the right word. 

His eyes flicker down to Kaoru’s wine glass and back again, like a slight correction of his angle as he heads downhill. Kaoru raises it to his mouth and drains what’s remaining, which is nearly so much as to make the gesture rude and showy. He doesn’t know why he’s playing at this; Kojirou knows he doesn’t like it, and Kojirou hadn’t said anything when he’d ordered it. Because he’s aware enough to know that a gorilla like him questioning Kaoru’s taste is stupid (because Kaoru is the customer, and therefore correct)--because he knows that saying that would only make Kaoru angry. And it’s not that the wine is bad, or poor-suited to the food. 

The breadth of Kojirou’s hand nearly hides his glass of water. Is there a reason he’d chosen such delicate glassware for his own restaurant? He’s considerably larger than the average person, in every way, yes, but--he does have surprising depth in taste (at this point, not surprising to Kaoru as much as expected, but it doesn’t quite suit his image). His legs are spread under the table, stretched out; Kaoru needs neither to look nor to ask artificial intelligence to know that. He knows right where they’ll be, and, reaching one to out, taps Kojirou’s ankle with his foot. Kojirou leans forward on his elbow. 

“Yes?”

Kaoru’s mouth feels as if it wants to pull into several different expressions at once, a grimace and a smile and something more neutral. He doesn’t allow his face to move, but shrugs one shoulder to push a stray lock of hair back behind it.

“Nothing,” Kaoru says. 

He needs to get back to work soon; there are tests he needs to run on the new data models, packages he’s been putting off upgrading. Code compatibility is like keeping a thousand needles in parallel threaded, occasionally difficult to see where something has broken when a paradigm has changed or something small silently dropped. And staring at a screen is all well and good and necessary, and yet…

Kojirou taps Kaoru’s knee with his, under the table, without appearing to slump down any further. Kaoru pushes the tip of his thumb against the bottom of the bowl of the wine glass. He doesn’t look to see if it’s smudged.

“I should get back,” says Kojirou. 

“Let me pay first.”

“I’ll put it on your tab.”

Kaoru’s glasses are slightly listing to the left. Were he back in the office, Carla would have informed him of this development already. He reaches up to straighten them out.

“Fine.”

They walk through the kitchen to the back alley, the most efficient route back if not the most seemly. On the other side of the alley, someone on break from another restaurant stubs out her cigarette and pushes the door behind her open; for a second the sound of the kitchens is doubled, but then her door slams shut and so does Kojirou’s. His hand rests on the small of Kaoru’s back, the length from his fingertips to the base of his palm nearly half the length of Kaoru’s back. 

“Will you be there tonight?”

“Do you need to ask?” Kaoru says, because, really.

“Just thought I’d make sure.”

He cups Kaoru’s cheek with his other hand, and Kaoru’s very glad it’s not night already, that Kojirou’s hand is on his bare face instead of pushing aside his mask, and as Kojirou goes in for a kiss, Kaoru turns to the side and presses his mouth to Kojirou’s finger. Kojirou’s lips land on the side of Kaoru’s jaw.

“Too slow” Kaoru says, “and you shouldn’t keep your customers waiting.”

He’s about to turn when Kojirou pulls him back, into his arms like he’s a spinning figure in a music box or an unwitting ballroom dance partner. The kiss is quick, decisive, Kojirou’s mouth locked over Kaoru’s for a short moment, Kojirou’s fingers digging into his sleeve. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm still working on getting their dynamic down haha


End file.
